


Return of Norm

by HMaxMarius



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, Worm - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMaxMarius/pseuds/HMaxMarius
Summary: Thirty-five years ago a young boy was introduced to the world of comic books.Thirty years ago, the Golden Man arrived and the boy marveled.Twenty-five years ago, that boy decided to be a hero, powers or not.16 years ago, he fell in love, fought for that love, married that love, had a daughter and after 8 impressive years, hung up his cape.3 years ago the love of his life died in a car accident.4 weeks ago, his daughter was brutalized by someone he thought was her friend.  She triggered.Tonight, he found her in his old lair.  The one hidden beneath the back yard in the old bomb shelter his dad had built in the 60's.Beware ye who lurk where shadows dwell...Norm Man is coming out of retirement.
Comments: 40
Kudos: 66





	1. Discoveries

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Worm and its associated characters are property of Wildbow. No monetary gain may be accrued from this work of derivative fiction.

**Discoveries**

Another long day fighting with the City to ensure ongoing gainful employment for the remaining members of the Brockton Bay Dock Workers Association left me dragging myself through the front door. So tired I had almost stepped down in the middle of the rotten third step up to the porch, only remembering at the last instant to shift my foot over to the riser.

“Taylor, I'm home,” I yelled, tossing my keys into the wicker bowl on the bookcase. The homemade, unintentionally asymmetrical handwoven basket nestled in the pool of warm yellow light from the lamp beside it.

Stretching, I moved toward the kitchen, only to stop. Turning, I looked again.

The pool of light was definitely yellow.

“Crap!”

Reaching behind the books on the first shelf I pulled out a collapsible baton, slipping it into the waistband at the back of my pants. Quietly I crept to the basement door, slipping it open. Carefully, descending the stairs, stepping over each of the three treads that were left a little loose. No need to advertise my approach by making the stairs creak.

In the dim light at the bottom of the steps I could just make out the shapes of the various boxes, tools and other implements that were kept down here. Taylor had apparently been re-arranging things too as I did not recall the various things being where I currently saw them in the small spill of light coming from the opening in the outside wall. The opening that was below the grade of the back yard.

Quietly, I approached the pool of light, wincing as my feet crunched down on some unfortunate bug. I really needed to clean this place out... and maybe hire an exterminator.

Under the light I could see where the shelf that was supposed to hide this door had been swung open, having left marks in the dust. Another thing I would have to correct, once I knew who had discovered my deepest secret.

Reaching back I grasped the baton just before jumping through the entrance to the old bomb shelter. Extending it with a flick and cocking it across my chest, halfway moving into an offensive swing I froze.

Standing in front of me, nearly my same height, wearing a gray body-stocking with a clearly insect themed helmet pushed back on her head was a young woman. In her arms was a charcoal cape, the blood red interlocked N and M on a yellow lozenge draped outward. In her hands was the accompanying cowl.

“Dad? Why didn't you tell me?”

'Well I guess I know now why she took up jogging.'

  
=NM=  


Once upon a time, Brockton Bay had a thriving port economy with a population of over half a million people. There were a dozen high schools, twice that many middle schools and four times as many elementary schools. There were also a half dozen private schools of various types.

Then Leviatan killed the shipping industry. The dockworkers strike created the boat graveyard and that buried the port. Two thirds of the population threw up their hands and left. Over a decade after the city's economic collapse, ownership of most of the property in the city was still winding its way through the courts due to tax liens and foreclosures. It took the influx of Asian refugees from Leviathan's sinking of Kyushu and the resulting Tsunami's impact on the former Asian Tiger nations to bring the city's population back up to its current three hundred thousand. A not insignificant number of those squatting in abandoned, disputed properties.

Now there were only seven severely overcrowded high schools a dozen middle schools and twice that in elementary schools remaining. All of the private schools had folded except for the Immaculatta Catholic School. Its K through Twelve program leaning heavily on the broader church's support. Then, some of the wealthier remaining Brocktonians got together and purchased one of the old high schools from the city and had it rebuilt, opening it under a special charter as Arcadia Preparatory Academy. Suddenly, if your grades were above a certain mark through Elementary and Middle schools, and if your family had enough money or you could win a scholarship, you had a choice of the semi-private option.

This had the effect of driving the other schools' performance even lower as the more dedicated or familially supported students went to where the resources could best serve them. Now there were seven heavily under performing public high schools fighting for every scrap of funding, just to keep the lights on.

And the absolute, pit-of-hell worst of these was a place called Winslow.

I sat and listened as Taylor spelled out chapter and verse on everything the terrible trio had been doing over the last year and a half. All while slowly thumbing my way through the stack of notebooks and printouts she had piled on the kitchen table between us.

When she had named her tormentors my vision had gone red. Alan, my best friend and one of the few people who I had trusted with my own secret identity, was the father of Taylor's primary bully. Not only that, but that same bully was once my little girl's best friend.

This would not stand.

Finding out Taylor had powers and wanted to be a hero? That opened the door.

Finding out that all the assurances by the school administration were mere lip service to make me go away? That was a boot in the rear towards that door.

Discovering that someone we both treated as family was the villain of the piece and had not stopped after Taylor's time in the hospital? Somewhere on the desk in my home office was the form to renew my Private Investigator's license. Or rather, my cape identity's credentials, that is. 'Thank you dear for making me keep them current.'

As soon as that was in the mail, I had research to do. What I learned there, well that would determine whether my call to the Barnes household would be for Alan, or for Zoe. 

I still remembered how she handled her older daughter's rebellious stage. Six straight months of ruffles, lace and petticoats. It would have been three, but Zoe made numerous surprise visits to the school, catching Ann wearing something other than what she left the house in three different times. 

Heaven forbid if my call was for her.

  
=NM=  


'How the hell did I get here?' My thoughts spun wildly. It was three days since my daughter confronted me with the past I had left behind fifteen years ago. In those three days the two of us had completely cleaned out the old 'ManCave'... I rubbed the sore spot on the back of my head.

'Yeah, Annette, you never EVER let me get away with that one either. Like mother, like daughter.'

Anyway, we had scrubbed the old bomb shelter from one end to the other and then from top to bottom. That done, we moved everything back in from the basement, organizing it carefully so there was now room for Taylor to have her own office area, workshop, storage and armory.

So yeah, apparently my daughter had stumbled upon my old hero lair while trying to re-arrange the basement to hide her minions from me so I did not accidentapurposfully 'her word, dear' call in an exterminator.

Of course 20 black widow spiders performing the can-can while dangling from the ceiling in front of my face, well I almost called them in because of how my dear departed wife's child 'yes dear, she's still your daughter when she freaks me out' kept moving them closer to me.

Now all of that was finished and I had extracted (after many unrestrained giggles on her part) a firm commitment from Taylor not to bug me with her minions. I'm not arachnophobic or entymophobic or whatever the proper word was... much. Bug powers... sheeesh! And boy-howdy she has no idea how to pick a name. Seriously, Spiderchick? Ant Zap? Waspish? Legs? 'serious veto on that one' Stinger? 'okay, that one has potential, though a little villainous' Arthropod Angel 'Simurgh much there Owl?' General Chitin? 'Wasn't he a bad guy in those horrid follow-on Star Wars films the Aleph Lucas made?'

'Who am I kidding? I spent eight years before Taylor was born heroing as Norm Man.'

**A/N:** My version of Brockton Bay is based on Newburyport Massachusetts. Descriptively it seems to work better than the maps on the worm wiki site. Namely that a ferry linking the two sides of a town straddling a river-bay makes a lot more sense than one that runs from one end of the beach to the other and that the port would be much easier to block and clog with scuttled/abandoned ships.


	2. Suits

**Suits**

We were standing on either side of the table in the center of our newly refurbished lair. On the table lay Taylor's costume. The same one she had been wearing earlier in the week when I had found her coming out of the lair carrying my old cape and cowl. It was a silver-gray bodysuit woven in a single piece, with footies and gloves attached to the legs and arms respectively. It zipped up the front with a high collar that left her head exposed from just below the chin. She also had a yellow eye lensed mask and helmet that left her hair exposed. Her hair which aside from her height was her most distinguishing feature.

And that was it.

No padding. Minimal armor made of beetle shells. No boots or shoes beyond the footies. I took it all in. I'd started off with less. I'd learned very quickly that what looked good wasn't necessarily what I needed to have, but we all start off somewhere. At least there wasn't much here that needed to be done away with. Add a hood for the hair and the other proper elements and she would actually be starting off far better than most.

“Okay Taylor, you've done pretty good with the costume portion of the uniform. Spider silk woven to size, impervious to blades and bullet resistant. But here's the real question. What happens when they get past your bugs and come at you with a baseball bat? Also, bullet resistant does not make you immune from the kinetic damage done by the hit.”

I rearranged her costume to make space on the table.

“The thing that most capes don't think about is that, with the exception of Brutes and certain others with various forms of kinetics, they are still base-line human. Even some Tinkers fall into this trap.”

Turning around I opened the wardrobe on my side of the lair.

“The rule here is layers. Your bottom-most layer should provide padding and a certain level of energy absorption and distribution. Does your nomex wetsuit still fit?”

Taylor shrugged uncertainly as I pulled my old nomex underlayer out and lay it across the table. It was a quarter inch thick and had become a bit brittle with age but it was still pliable enough to give the proper impression.

“If it does, it is an excellent base layer. You should practice moving, running, and fighting while wearing it. We'll head down to a little scuba shop I know of out toward Cape Cod and pick you up some custom sized spares.”

Next I took an old set of aluminum chain-mail off of a hangar at the back of the wardrobe. Back in high school I'd made this set using a coil of 12 gauge electrical wire, a pair of needle nose pliers, and a patient concentration that drove my friends nuts. I'd later expanded it to fit as I grew and when I took up heroing it became part of my gear.

“Next you'll need an inner armor layer. Normally this would be a light chain-mail but here I think your spider silk might be a better choice. A looser weave than your current suit but tight to the wetsuit. This would act to turn blades that might get through the initial layers.”

Lifting out an old gym bag I began laying out the kind of armor you would sometimes see BMX or Motocross riders wear while racing. I also laid out a suit that gave the appearance of having its own muscles along the upper arms, thighs, hips and calves. Finally, I laid out an old bullet proof vest.

“Outside of this you would add strategically placed gel padding and hardened armor plates. Shin guards, forearm guards, bullet-proof body-armor and the like. This layer is also where you would incorporate any technology you wish to add, be it Tinker or Standard.”

With all the inner layers laid out, I grabbed my old costume off the rack, laying out the hero-thick, dark green spandex, sleeveless bodysuit, long-sleeve pullover shirt of the same material in a medium gray with my logo centered on the chest and the charcoal gray cowl and cape. I also added my blood red military web style utility belt, charcoal gauntlet/gloves and my charcoal, knee-height, steel toed boots.

“Finally, over the top of this we place your current costume. You may need to re-size it a bit, but the first time you get hit by a bullet or a club, you'll definitely understand why all the layers are there.”

Nodding, Taylor glanced at me, a little embarrassed. “What if I need to go to the bathroom?”

Turning again, I chuckled while pulling an ancient box off the upper shelf of the wardrobe and placed it on the table.

“You're not going to like this but, adult diapers.”

“WHAT!”

'Mortification, thy name is teenager.'

“Think about it. The last thing you want to be doing is peeing your pants in front of an enemy or fighting your way in and out of a costume to take a leak while on patrol. Astronauts used to wear them before Simurgh caused the space programs to shut down. I'll almost guarantee that the Tinker suit jockeys who don't have built in waste management wear them too. It's also a final layer of padding in a very sensitive area. Besides, once it's under the layers its invisible.”

“There is one more important aspect of all of this as well.”

She turned from staring at the various elements of my own suit that I had laid out on the table beside her own. “What's that?”

“All of the padding and armor changes what your body looks like significantly. Always remember, your secret identity is your life. Never forget what happened to Fleur of New Wave. Being unmasked is only a very short step from being dead. Tell no one you do not absolutely trust.”

=NM=

_Mrawk... mrawk... mrawk... mrawk..._

'Damnit it's Saturday!' I slammed my hand down on the offending noisemaker passing itself off as a clock.

“Come on Dad!” Taylor yelled while rapping on my closed bedroom door. “Fitness waits not for sleep!”

'Crap. Why did I think it was a good idea to take up jogging with...' a gnat buzzed in my ear briefly. 'Right. Taylor's got super powers and a yearning to go out and be a hero. And come Behemoth or Leviathan, I was going to be right beside her... Like I should have been the last two years.'

'Sorry dear, you broke me when you died and it took almost losing the most important thing to both of us to bring me back.'

Rolling out of bed I quickly dressed in my sweats, thick socks and my running shoes. Meeting Taylor in the kitchen we each grabbed a granola bar and downed a glass of water before heading out the door.

A quarter to six in the morning is surprisingly busy. Sure, you could safely jog across most streets without breaking pace, but you still had to look before doing so. Our route took us toward downtown, then over to the boardwalk, up to the old Southside Ferry Terminal then back towards our neighborhood along the edge of the warehouse district that bordered the few still working piers.

I was starting to flag a little and Taylor, the scamp, was shooting me the stink-eye for slowing her down, when she wasn't struggling to internalize a grin at how the old man was huffing along like a B & O 2-4-2.

I stumbled my way back into the house to Taylor's laughter and shouted “Dibs!” 'That energy had to come from you dear.' I forced my rubbery legs to climb the stairs to my room as I heard Taylor dart into the bathroom and start the shower.

Ten minutes later, she was out and I dragged my wrung out self underneath the pounding flow of water that seemed like it barely had enough heat in it to keep the icicles from forming. Porch step, truck, hot water heater. 

'Sweetheart, don't be mad at me, but today's excursion is coming out of Taylor's college fund. After-all, if she doesn't survive to make it to college, that fund is moot. So spending a little bit of it to ensure she's still alive to go to college, well that's as good a use as I can think of for it.'

By the time I was dried off and dressed, Taylor had whipped up breakfast. Even eating leisurely we were still done by 7:30 and were heading south out of town as the sun broke the eastern horizon. Three hours put us well past Boston and found us about halfway out the cape, pulling up to a ramshackle business. One that had clearly expanded organically from its original premises into the surrounding ones. Over time absorbing the former surf shop on one side, the hardware store on the other and the mechanics garage on the block behind.

A large rectangular red sign with a white diagonal stripe through it stood over the words 'Namode's Dive Shop'. While I had not been here in years, at one time I was a regular visitor. I'd seen this place grow from the original shop through each expansion. Taylor and I both climbed from the truck. My back popping as I stretched the kinks of three hours sitting out of it.

Taylor started toward the old surf shop's entrance but I steered her to the original dive shop's door. “Better we go in over here.” I said. “What we're after won't be on the racks over there. Besides, we have plenty of time to browse once we've said hi to the owner.”

Taylor shrugged and turned with me toward the old wood and glass door with the cracking pale green paint. 'Why had I not noticed, surely I wasn't so far gone that I missed when my little chatterbox stopped... Or was it when we lost you dear? Did we both stop and never really get going again? How many more ways have I failed you both that I need to atone for?'

Turning the old, weathered knob, I swung the door open. A hand in the middle of Taylor's back guiding her in ahead of me. In the dim interior light, dusty shelves full of tanks, hoses, regulators, masks, fins, fittings, bobs, belts, weights, rope, and every other diving accessory made in the last fifty years spread out around us. In the center of the room, stretching to the back wall a horseshoe counter stood. An old, wooden cash register on one corner, an old PC on the other. Both as dusty as the rest of the shop. Off to the left, the wall had been removed and the dive supplies continued unabated into the shelving of the old hardware store. To the right, a doorway had been cut, a bead curtain hanging in it separating the brightly lit 'fashion' side of the store from the nuts and bolts of diving.

Behind the counter stood a younger man, his unkempt, sun-bleached, blonde hair and scruffy beard looking as if they longed for the open water. “Welcome to Namodes...” he did a double-take. “Norm? Shit! Danny! Hell man, it's been ages! POPS!!! DANNY'S BACK!”

Chuckling I continued to guide a suddenly reticent Taylor forward. “Eddie! Yeah, long time, and for good reasons.” I tilted my head towards my daughter.

A brief commotion from the office behind the counter followed by an almost painful sounding string of coughs caught my attention. “What's that son? You say Norm's back?”

“Ed! I thought old Neptune would have claimed your barnacled ass by now.”

The old man coughed again. “Nah, I'm too ornery for such like as him. Last time I thought he was gonna take me he threw me back an tol' me not ta be botherin' him na-more. Bastard kept ma boat though. Might have to give him wha-fore an get it back soon.”

Reaching out I took the old salt's knarled hand in my own. “I thought you were retiring?”

“I did. My car, my truck, all my trailers. Three times since you were last here.”

Eddie and Taylor both groaned at the elder Namode's pun.

“Don't let the old man fool ya Danny,” Eddie chimed in with a wink. “He handed me the keys five years ago and I've been trying to figure out how he keeps getting back into the office every since.”

I shook my head slowly. Sixteen years, Eddie was barely out of High School last time I was here and now he was running the place. Even if I was leaving the hero business, I should have done a better job of staying in touch. Sixteen years their roles might be a little reversed now but it was like I'd never left.

“So, this a social call? You takin' up diving?” Eddie glanced over at Taylor. “Or is this something more... interesting?”

I looked over at Taylor and could see her uncertainty. “Your call kiddo. The Namodes' are good people who've known my secret, and I'm pretty sure a number of others for years. They have my complete trust.”

Taylor's eyes closed briefly, when they opened a small swarm of flying insects began performing an intricate airshow behind her as a formation of cockroaches marched in review across the floor beneath them. I could almost swear I heard Bill Murray crowing about 'Army Training SIR!'

Stepping up to the old man she took his weathered hand in her own and introduced herself, for the first time using the name we had finally settled on. “Silver Scarab, sir. I'm Taylor, Danny's daughter.”

=NM=

Turns out the family side of the business had expanded a bit. Eddie's wife Etta was now the one in charge of all fittings and was quickly brought in to get measurements on us both. Unlike the dive suits, the ones the Namodes made for hero work were more sculpted. Thinned at the joints and thickened along the long muscles. A necessity when being worn for activities like hand to hand combat, running, climbing or just sneaking through the darkness while you cased villains.

They also now included energy capturing bands that wrapped the major joints; shoulders, elbows, hips, knees and ankles. As the wearer moved, the various bands would stretch or contract, reinforcing some of the motion. According to Etta, it had started off as an idea for reinforcing isometric exercises, building stamina and long-muscle strength. They had discovered that the right configuration could actually increase the wearer's speed in running and in punching while reducing stress for movements like judo throws, climbing and landing from heights.

Even though it was the bottom-most layer, Etta grilled us on our colors and cooed almost excessively when Taylor pulled her spider-silk costume out of her pack, convincing her to model it. Last time I had gone through this, it had been Ed himself doing it. Now he just sat back on an old wicker chair, his walking stick resting beneath his cupped hands.

Measurements done, the Namodes closed up for lunch and dragged us across the street to the diner there. After an impressive meal for anywhere, much less a hole-in-the-wall off-season diner in a half-dead summer tourist town we headed back to the dive shop.

My daughter found herself stuffed into a standard wetsuit over which Etta and Eddie began fitting various types of light armor, rejecting most before finding what she liked. Taylor even found herself being fitted for a proper bullet proof vest with trauma plates. Eventually, she was fully kitted out in a prototype mockup of what Etta was planning.

Getting Taylor back into her costume over the layers, Etta started tossing belts of various types around her waist, finally pleased with a dark gray web belt to which she added several hard pouches and a number of soft ones. Ed and Eddie, meanwhile, had been quizzing Taylor on what she thought she needed while making suggestions of what their experience indicated was required. Soon my daughter's utility belt sported a top of the line, compact first aid kit, a pouch full of zip-cuffs with a quick dispenser in the bottom of it, a half-dozen epi-pens in pouches on either hip. There was space for snacks for those long patrols and even longer stakeouts, and the hard-case pouches were all places she could carry lots of bugs as a reserve for her swarm. In holsters hanging from the belt down each thigh were a pair of collapsible batons and a half-dozen pepper spray canisters.

“Dah-ling,” Etta drawled out as she lifted and flounced the hair on Taylor's right shoulder. “I love the hair, but it's too you. I'm thinking a helmet, kevlar, textured to avoid reflections, in a shade darker gray than your suit. Split T front with good forward and side visibility, a silvered lens for eye protection, easy to eat or drink with and can be sealed quickly. Low light system in the visor and a blue-tooth link to your comm system.”

Taylor and I were both nodding at that. The look, combined with her costume easily fit the theme of her 'Silver Scarab' name. Her steel toed, knee high boots and glove/greave combination would be done in similar materials and matching coloring.

The sun was well toward the western horizon when we finally left the shop. Taylor's college fund was about fifteen grand lighter and in about two weeks we would be receiving not only two complete sets for her, but they had tossed in a pair of under-layers for me for old time's sake. Eddie had insisted on three prepaid cell phones for each of us. Ed's gruff 'get over it' slicing through both of our objections. We were also leaving with two pair of properly fitted nomex wet-suits each. All of them with the isometric energy band reinforcement.

Joy, our runs are about to get so much easier.

Not. 

Glancing back over her shoulder Taylor sighed. “For some reason I expected them to be shorter.”

I cocked my right eyebrow at her.

“And violent.”

I didn't have a response for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: No, this isn't an Incredibles crossover, just thought it might be fun to play with the name a bit. ;P
> 
> Chapter lengths will vary. Hope everyone enjoyed the long one!


	3. Opening the Case

**Opening the Case**

Monday morning dawned and again it was far earlier than it had any right to be. Taylor's rap on the door once more reminding me to get moving. After a quick visit to the bathroom I struggled my way into one of the Namode's Mover2 suits and zipped it up. They even had a brightly colored, neat logo we could point to on the left chest, right shoulder and both hips. That done I slipped on a set of sweats over top of it then tossed off a couple punches, feeling how the reinforcing bands loaded and resisted the draw and unloaded on the release. Lacing up my running shoes I headed for the kitchen.

Taylor was already there, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Awful spry for someone who face-planted in the front yard yesterday morning.”

She stuck her tongue out. “Says the guy who made us _walk_ the route yesterday.”

“Power walk, Little Owl. Considering how the hip and knee bands force you to really lift into the step I didn't feel like copying your front yard gymnastics on the sidewalk downtown.”

Yesterday's _jog_ had been interesting. Starting off it was clear that we would both have to relearn how to move while wearing the Mover2 suits. Movement in the presumed easy directions was heavily resisted, while movement in the applied power directions was reinforced, as Taylor had discovered when she tried to take off running, launched too hard and immediately tripped over her next foot because it did not come far enough off the ground quick enough due to the resistance.

As a result we had spent yesterday's entire circuit focusing on the mechanics of walking and lightly jogging.

“All right Kiddo, let's start today with a light jog. Remember to focus on the lift at the knee.”

=NM=

Sitting at my desk, I ached surprisingly little considering that I was the one to do the face-plant this morning. Between bouts of paperwork, my mind kept drifting back to what was going on at Taylor's school. I could only keep her out for so long, a week maybe before it would be officially noticed and reported that she was not there.

I had rather enjoyed dragging the last truancy officer to the hospital and shoving their nose into the glass of Taylor's hospital room door while having the doctor explain in excruciating detail why she was not in school and exactly how much the school system would be paying in hospital bills for allowing one of their students to become so injured on their watch.

The officious prick couldn't run away fast enough. And the hospital bills got paid promptly by the system office.

I brought up the BBPD's website, skimming the list of current officers, a smile twitching at my mouth as I found the name I was looking for now attached to the detective division as a Captain. It seems that Comish had gotten a few promotions.

Taking an index card and scissors from my desk, I quickly set to work. Cutting the pattern out from memory before throwing my emblem in the middle of it with 'Call Me – 9pm' to either side and one of my new cell numbers on the back of it. All of my writing a little shaky, having been done left-handed. Something else I needed to start practicing again. Not to mention teaching Taylor.

Sweeping the scrap off my desk, I folded a sheet of copy paper around it and slipped it into an envelope with Comish's name on it before sticking it in my inside coat pocket.

Picking up my phone, I called the detective who was looking into Taylor's attack and made an appointment to drop by that afternoon to get an update on the case.

Going out wasn't in the cards yet... That didn't mean I couldn't get started in other ways.

=NM=

After the 'whole-lot-of-nothing' stop by police headquarters... well not quite. Turns out that Comish's desk was right next to the detective I had been speaking with. They weren't there, but it was really easy to slip the envelop onto the chair without anyone, even the cameras, seeing me.

Anyway I had driven about an hour out of town to a pawn shop I knew of. 'Mental note dear. Make sure to impress on Taylor that she should never source her cape supplies locally.' After a bit of haggling, I parted with a few hundred dollars for a pair computer systems that were only a couple years out of date. All things considered, they were probably hotter than Lung on a bad day, but needs must. Scarab and I were going to need the ability to crunch and archive data and we had spent more of her college fund already than I had intended.

Which reminded me. I needed to upgrade our internet service too. I cringed. That would also be coming out of Taylor's college fund, at least short term. 'Mental note dear. Find out how long it takes to weave a standard size bolt of spider-silk cloth. Perhaps we can look at selling it to the Namodes or through that new rogue Parian.'

As I pulled into the driveway I spotted Taylor jogging down the block toward the house, her pack bouncing lightly on her back. I took my time parking, getting out just as she turned into the drive.

“Hey kiddo. Whatcha been up to?”

She shrugged. “Library. I wanted to check out some things. Did you know they have practice tests for the GED?”

I cocked a dubious eyebrow. “Aaaand, how did my Little Owl do on these tests?”

“Eh...” she screwed the toe of her right sneaker into the concrete drive. “Seventy percent.”

I blinked. She would have passed. Taking it cold she would have passed her GED. As a tenth grader.

“Boy am I glad you got your mom's brains.”

She snorted and slugged me in the shoulder. “Yeah, and who's the big-time negotiator the DWA can't do without?”

I ruffled her hair and nodded my head at the back of the truck. “Speaking of negotiations, can you help me haul a few boxes downstairs?”

“Oh?” She turned and opened the hatch of the rear shell. “Oooo,” her eyes widened when she saw the computer parts sticking out of the boxes.

“So... you think you can push that up to ninety percent by, say, June?”

The look on her face was priceless.

=NM=

“I'm telling you Jim, that offer in Miami is looking better and better.”

I could only snort in response. Murtaugh had been carrying on about moving to South Florida for ten years, in spite of the fact that the Central American drug gangs had only become more violent since the advent of parahumans, not less and that area was still the primary gateway for their supply pipeline. Although word was that PRT SSE at least would actually do something when Miami PD asked them to.

Today had once again worked out to be an absolutely shit day, with the DA's office killing two more cases due to PRT ENE meddling thanks to 'possible parahuman involvement'.

Tossing my coat across the back of my chair I grumped as the gust of wind from it's movement caused an envelope to flutter off the seat and flip under my desk.

What it was doing in the seat, I had no idea.

My mood was not improved by Murtaugh's laugh when my head thumped against the desk while reaching for the offending piece of paper.

As I sat back rubbing the tender spot on my head I glanced down at the nearly illegible scrawl that could generously be assumed to read Captain Gordon.

Removing the folded sheet inside I opened it, only for a piece of card stock cut in the outline of a bat to fall in my lap. To either side of an oval encapsulated overlapping M and N were the words 'Call Me – 9pm'. On the back was a phone number that I could tell from the prefix was from one of the prepaid cell companies.

“Fuck!” I groaned. “I thought he retired!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I have created a forum to accompany this story. There is a thread for general story discussion and there will also be PHO Roleplay threads where I invite you to log in and participate and be part of the story. Remember, on the Roleplay threads, you ARE a citizen of Earth Bet and only know what would be publicly available. Have fun! https://www.fanfiction.net/myforums/H-Max-Marius/1048123/ If Link is not present due to fanfic's hyper-restrictive rules please search 'Return of Norm – PHO Roleplay' in the fanfic forums.


	4. Falling Shoes

**Falling Shoes**

The ringing of the phone in my pocket caught Taylor off guard, causing her to reflexively jump where she was sprawled across the sofa. Digging the phone out of my pocket I punched the mute button on the TV remote.

“Go,” I answered bruskly, adding a touch of gravel to my voice.

A slightly husky contralto voice answered from the other end. _“Dammit all Norm! You RETIRED!”_

“Comish! Great to hear your voice. How's life treating you?”

_“Can the crap Norm, I know this is no social call.”_ Jaime Gordon was always no-nonsense when we communicated. It was half the fun of winding her up. _“You asked for me, so that means you're back in the hunt. Is this a one off or is the cowl off the hook?”_

I'd first met Jamie Gordon as a student at Brockton Bay University, about a year before meeting Annette. Jamie was a newly minted BBPD patrol officer so fresh out of the Academy that she still squeaked. To my great disappointment, she was also newly and happily married. We were paired as study partners in a corporate accounting class that we both were taking as a pre-req for a forensic accounting class. She was, of course, a Criminal Justice major. I was doing the Accounting track with a CJ minor.

As a joke, I started calling her Jim. Then I had to bring in one of my old Batman comics to explain the joke. I also made the mistake of using it in the presence of her partner when he picked her up from a study session and apparently the nickname had stuck. Of course, when I later arranged to approach her in costume I had to come up with something different. Thus, as Norm Man I always called her by either her proper name or Comish.

I sighed into the phone. “Yeah Comish, the cowl's back on. Long story short, a friend of a friend of a former contact got steered to me. His daughter was attacked at school and I've agreed to look into it. I've got their story and I've got copies of the documentation the victim provided. I was hoping I could get something more from your side that might enable me to help them and you out.”

I could hear her groan from the speaker. _“You know there are limits to what...”_

I cut her off by rattling off my Private Investigator's license number. “Retired doesn't mean I've let things lapse.”

_“Okay,”_ she replied. _“I'll send you what we're allowed to give affiliated support capes.”_

I quickly rattled off an email address I had acquired from an anonymous service. “Thank you Detective Gordon.”

_“You're welcome,”_ she answered. I could feel the strain in her voice. _“And Norm, welcome back. We need you.”_

I looked over at my daughter who was following at least my half of the conversation. When she nodded, I knew she'd actually been able to hear both sides.

“Jamie, you have us.”

=NM=

“Taylor!” My yell echoed across the basement. I was taking the morning to review the case file Jim had sent over, planning to head for the office after lunch.

After a moment I heard her feet thump on the kitchen floor and the door open. “Yeah Dad?”

I had been reviewing the case file Jaime had sent over and had just come across an interesting and disturbing piece of data.

“Can you come down here a minute? And close the door behind you.”

The thud of my daughter's boot clad feet on the basement stairs followed and she was soon leaning on my shoulders as I pointed out the highlighted line in the report. Her hand reflexively clamped down on my right arm and I could hear her teeth grind in my ear.

“Why the FUCK is the PRT _requesting_ that the Brockton Bay Police Department delay and BURY MY CASE!”

I flipped back several pages on the screen. Because the suspects were all minors, their names had been redacted from the document, but their physical descriptions and ages had been left.

Of course I recognized Emma's description immediately, not needing Taylor's finger jabbing at the screen as she growled out her name as well as Sophia and Madison's.

I waved to the other workstation we had set up. She quickly had her machine booted. I nodded approvingly as she logged in through an onion site. In a world with Tinkers, it was far from a perfect means to anonymize a search, but it would suffice for what we were looking for.

“Bring up PHO and lets see what we can find.”

Much of the world hears the term PHO and all they think of is forums full of cape geeks, conspiracy theorist and bad fanfiction shipping everything from Triumvirate orgies to pick a hero/pick a villain starry eyed romances. Thank god Tin Mother had started cracking down on and deleting the accounts of the perverts who tried to post anything involving wards or known to be underage villains. Just having seen the handle Lung&Vista4evah was enough to make me sick!

But I digress. ParaHumansOnline was far more than just the forums. It was the repository of record for the current status of all of the known hero teams, most of the rogues and a good many villains as well. 

“Search Brockton Bay Wards Team Photo for me.” 

Taylor quickly had an image pulled up, downloaded and expanded to fill her screen. A banner across the top proclaimed 'Brockton Bay Wards – October, 2010', the most recent group shot available.

I immediately dismissed the four guys in the image. Aegis, Gallant, Clockblocker and Kid Win were obviously not any of the three we were looking for. The last two members were Vista, who despite her long tenure on the team was widely known to have only just turned thirteen, and Shadow Stalker.  
Her dark, full body costume with hood and cape revealed little about the newest Ward. About all that could be told was that her height was the same as Aegis and she was thin, with a runner's build. That definitely ruled out either Emma or the Clements girl. 

I could hear Taylor starting to growl under her breath. 'Annette, I'm sorry, but I think that while she inherited my temper, she got your gift for language.'

I rolled my chair over beside hers and pulled up the PHO page for Shadow Stalker. As expected there were no vital details listed. After all, the mods were assiduous in their work to keep data that could out a cape off the site. But there were more ways to figure things out. I quickly scrolled through the images attached to the page but did not see one like I was seeking.

I glanced again at the group picture, then pulled up Aegis page and hit the jackpot. The third image was of Aegis shaking a police officer's hand in the entrance to a convenience store where he and Vista had disrupted an armed robbery, most likely saving the manager's life in the process. There, behind the ward's head was one of those colorful measuring stripes that are so ubiquitous on the doorframes of such establishments that they disappear from conscious view.

It did not take long to compare that information against the police record and verify that Aegis, and therefore Shadow Stalker were in the correct height range to be 'suspect number two'.

“I cannot BELIEVE that Sophia FUCKING Hess is a GODDAMN HERO!” Taylor's outraged screech devolved into French, then Portuguese. I'm the one in the dockworker's union so where the hell did she pick up Filipino and Vietnamese? Oh God. The summer Annette had the teaching contract down in New York and Taylor spent the days with me at the docks. 'No wonder you weren't happy with me when you got back.' 

I let her continue to vent it out of her system 'much like you used to do with me dear.' Switching back to Shadow Stalker's PHO datasheet I skimmed through her history. She had first shown up about two years before as one of those independent heroes better described as a vigilante. The sort who's only in it for the fight and could just as easily be a villain. The big game hunter mentality. Lots of descriptions of excessive and potentially deadly use of force but for the lucky survival of her targets.

Something bugged me about the descriptions that were included. There was a pattern there, tickling at the back of my mind.

Taylor was now using Spanish to describe shoving an earth ball up inside Sophia and inflating it with Helium so she could see how high she would float before she popped. I shook my head as she switched to Farsi. I'd feel proud of her language skills except for the fact I understood what she was saying and none of it was acceptable for company. We Hebert's have always had a temper and we've had to fight to cont... wait...

Fight...

I looked back at the synopsis of Shadow Stalker's known actions. In every case where there were comments from survivors who were rescued by her, they fought back _before_ Shadow Stalker intervened. There were a lot of cases where she took out attackers after they had robbed and or beaten civilians, but there was no gushing praise from the victims _unless they fought back first._

Oh God. The worst sort of mentality to be out there. Someone out to save _those who deserve it._

The strong are to be saved, the weak are to be trod upon, if acknowledged at all.

Only idiots believe that the Empire 88 has a monopoly on this type of stupid philosophy.

I wanted to throw up. Or join my beloved daughter's rant.

Is that Maori?

=NM=

Years ago, about six months after Behemoth's attack, I was following a lead and ended up down in New York City. While staking out a mook for the case I had been accosted by one of the city's young heroes. A tinker. Why someone who's skillset revolved around making things wanted to be a brawler I had no clue. It turned out that the kid was part of the New York Wards, an experiment at the time in training up the next generation while keeping them alive and out of the hands of the criminal gangs.

It took a call to the local protectorate and a chewing out by the kid's team supervisor but he had eventually become an asset to the operation. I still smiled at the memory of Legend's voice over the radio telling the kid to 'Shut up and pay attention. Norm Man might just teach you something important.”

Of course, the irreverent manner I embraced while in costume, and my own inspiration meant that I couldn't let the fact that Armsmaster was a Ward slip by.

Picking up another of the burner phones the Namode's had sold me I dialed the main protectorate number.

_“Protectorate East Northeast. If this is an emergency involving an active parahuman presence press one, any other emergency hang up and dial 911 immediately. If this is not an emergency, please listen to the complete menu before selecting your option. To schedule a publicity event press two. Media requesting information or interviews press three. If you are a parahuman interested in joining the Protectorate press four. Independent heroes press five. Merchandise vendors...”_

The beep tone of the phone five key sounded in my ear.

_“Please state your verbal access code.”_

“Grayson, Wayne, Pennyworth DC 27 1939”

_“Greetings Retired Independent Hero Norm Man.”_ A pleasant, live, female, voice answered. _“How may I direct your call.”_

Time to burn the donuts. 

“I would like to speak with Armsmaster please.” I let a hard edge drop into my voice. “It is regarding the actions of someone on his team.”

_“Please hold while I see if he is available.”_

=NM=

Colin Wallis was many things. He was dedicated. He was focused. He was professional. Hell, he was Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Courteous, Obedient, Thrifty, Brave, Clean and Reverent. What he was not was personable by any stretch of the definition. Friendly, Kind and Cheerful were not words with which he had any personal acquaintance. They were not efficient.

He was just settling in at his workbench and pulling up his nano-thorn designs when the phone in his office rang.

Pushing the speaker button he growled at the interruption. “Armsmaster.”

_“Sir, Retired Independent Hero Norm Man is on the phone asking to speak with you.”_

He waited a moment before prompting. “Regarding?”

_“He said 'the actions of someone on your team', Sir.”_

Colin sighed deeply. “Put him through.”

_“Yes sir.”_

There was a click and before he could say anything the man on the other end was speaking.

_“Morning Dick!”_ The voice was gravelly, yet still sounded annoyingly cheerful.

“You've been retired for fifteen years Norm, why do you still insist on calling me that?”

_“Because you said I couldn't call you Burt.”_

Colin groaned, loudly. He was losing valuable tinkering time. “Norm, why are you calling?”

_“One of your wards is off the reservation.”_

He reached out and closed the nano-thorn file. “Which one, what have they done, and how are you involved?”

He heard the man on the other end take a deep breath. _“I'm involved because a friend of a friend of a contact hired me to investigate a case of bullying against his daughter that rises to the level of at least felony assault, possibly attempted murder, and that case is being squashed by the PRT.”_

FUCK! “Who is involved and how do you know they're a ward?”

_“If the PRT is going to squash a bullying case, then the PRT Officer should not make the request directly to the police department, with their identification codes. As to which ward, well the victim gave me the name Sophia Hess and the physical description can only fit your recent addition from the sociopathic vigilante ranks.”_

Colin felt his breakfast rise in the back of his throat. He had waved off the concerns raised by Assault, Velocity and Dauntless over Shadow Stalker's psychological profile. Her Darwinistic outlook bordered on the edge of what was acceptable, but others had convinced him she was redeemable. “I'll need to see the evidence.”

_“I'll forward you a copy of the redacted case file the BBPD sent me as well as my notes.”_ There was a an uncomfortably silent pause. _“And Armsmaster. The cowl's come off the hook.”_

The phone clicked off and Colin sat there staring at it until his email beeped several minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the last chapter that I had ready to go when I started posting. From here on I shall get them up as I have them ready to go. Please don't forget to participate in the forum I mentioned last chapter, it's your chance to be part of the story!


	5. Biological Waste, Meet Rotating Impeller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In deciding to attempt this story in first person, I rather quickly painted myself into a corner. I've spent thirty years dabbling in writing, almost the entirety of that has been done in 3rd person. I've discovered that my skills do not stretch far enough to enable me to continue a work this broad in the first person mode. No, I am not abandoning the story but to continue, all characters except Danny will be shifted to 3rd person.

**Biological Waste, Meet Rotating Impeller**

Zoe Barnes swept the ringing phone off the hook as she kissed her just home from work husband on the cheek. Emma slipping out the open door with her overnight bag on the way to her friend Madison's for the weekend. “Barnes residence.”

The gravelly voice that answered sounded familiar. “I need to speak to Cranston.” The words sent an ice cold shiver down her spine and the identity suddenly registered. This was a voice she had not heard in nearly 19 years.

“Dammit Norm! My husband retired from that life and you know exactly why!”

Alan Barnes froze at the words coming out of his wife's mouth. Dropping his coat he dived into his office, getting his handset to his ear in time to catch the reply.

“So did I, Ma'am. Fifteen years ago. Unfortunately, life does not always allow us to sit on our laurels and sip Mai Tai's. Hello Lamont, I need to speak with you and your wife. Alone. Tonight, if possible. May I come by?”

“D...ammit.” Alan almost screwed up. “Norm. Can you give me an idea what's going on?”

“Not on the phone.”

He looked up at his wife on the cordless in his doorway. With Ann at college and Emma now out for the weekend there was no better time than now. She nodded.

“Half an hour?”

“We're picking up Chinese on the way.”

Alan suddenly remembered that Zoe had never been read in on who Norm Man was. 

And why did he say 'we'?

=NM=

Colin thumbed through the non-redacted report he had requested from the Brockton Bay Police Department. The additional details only serving to reinforce the hypothesis that Norm Man had put forward in his own notes. Research he himself had done in the PRT and Protectorate files only made the case stronger.

He again cycled back to the forensic photos of the locker one Taylor Hebert had been trapped inside of for almost two hours. Only his years of exposure to scenes of the horror resulting from cape fights and Endbringer battles held the contents of his stomach in an iron grip. His thoughts circling back to when he himself was a sixteen year old having the absolute shit-worst day of his life.

As he reached for the phone to set an appointment with Director Piggot for first thing in the morning he only had one thought. 'How the hell did this girl not trigger?' 

Then the question that had been bothering him since the initial phone call came clear. 'Why would Norm Man come all the way out of retirement over this?'

“Oh hell.”

=NM=

The squeal of brakes from the driveway announced Danny's arrival at the Barnes residence. Alan got up to let him in, only to be beat to the door by his wife.

“Danny!” Zoe's surprised greeting sounded before he rounded the corner to the front hall. “Taylor! It's been forever. Now might not be a good time though, Alan's expecting someone.”

Alan got to the door in time to see Taylor hold up the Chinese take-out bag.

Zoe still did not twig to Danny being Norm Man.

“Cranston,” Danny's greeting from the doorstep hit Allan's wife like a punch to the gut.

His wife stumbling backwards into his arms, Alan waved the Heberts toward the kitchen.

=NM=

Alan looked up from the sheets Danny had slipped him to review. “Okay, so I see five pages of testimonials regarding a cape.”

“Common denominators?” Nineteen years seemed to fall from between them at the question. This had always been the part of Danny's hero gig that he had enjoyed participating in.

“All the incidents are assaults involving unpowered individuals as the assailants.”

Cocking his head, Danny nodded. “True, but secondary. What else?”

“There's no pattern to the victims or the assailants as regards race or social status.” He looked closer. “Are these all the known incidents?”

Danny shook his head. “No. And yes, the other incidents do include attacking capes.”

> _I was terrified, but more than that, my wife and young daughter were behind me. I was all that could stand between those bastards and my family. The punk with the knife stepped forward and I found my hand wrapped around his wrist while my foot crushed his balls, then suddenly she was there..._

He looked up from the testimonial on the page. “They fought back.”

“They fought back,” Danny repeated with a nod. “Thing is, this so called hero, only intervenes if that is the case. All the other incidents, they take out the perps after they've done their damage.”

“They only save those they think deserve it,” Alan stated, before continuing quietly. “The ones who are strong.”

“The ones who are strong,” Danny answered with disgust.

Alan looked up to see a very hard, cold pair of eyes staring at him. “Why are you bringing this to me?”

Danny held out his hand and took an inch and a half thick sheaf of photocopies from his daughter, sliding them across the table. 

“Because you know who that person is.” Danny's finger landing solidly on the top, handwritten line.

> _Friday, August 27th, 2010_
> 
> _School started up last week and the trio picked back up where they left off last year. Today I gave one final try taking this to the Principal, but she not only ignored my complaints about the bullying, she accused me of being the cause of the problem. So from now on every thing that Emma Barnes, Sophia Hess, Madison Clements and their followers do to me will be written down here..._

Alan looked up at him, denial swimming in his eyes.

“What the FUCK have you let Shadow Stalker do to your daughter?” Danny growled.

=NM=

Feet propped on the desk, Ethan peeled the wrapper from the piece of hard candy and popped it into his mouth before lacing his fingers behind his head. It was his quarter to oversee the Wards and he was procrastinating over the paperwork for the previous day's patrols when his door all but slammed open.

“Assault,” Armsmaster demanded bruskly as the office door bounced off its stops. “What's Shadow Stalker's schedule for this weekend?”

The kinetic cape's chair overbalanced, his shoulders hitting the floor as he nearly choked on the candy. “Ugh. *cough*” He shook his head, resisting the impulse to convert the impact into an immediate leap to his feet. “Really Beardmaster? You forget how to knock? How about dialing a phone?”

Colin's head merely rotated to look down at the cape sprawled across the floor and Ethan wondered how someone with an opaque mask covering their face from the end of their nose up, could express a disdainfully raised eyebrow, with a beard.

“Sorry. She's off through Sunday afternoon. Due back at 3pm then for evening patrol.”

=NM=

“W...What do you mean?” Alan stuttered as Danny's hand slapped on the table.

Flipping the original document Alan had been looking through to the third page he pointed at a red circled incident report. “Taylor's the one who put it together. July 23rd, 2009. 8:15pm. Azn Bad Boys ambushed a father and daughter in an alley just north of the Boardwalk. The police report indicating the involvement of Shadow Stalker in breaking up the attack.”

Alan and Zoe both went deathly pale.

“You didn't remember I was on the phone with Emma right before that did you?” Taylor quietly asked. “That I heard her ask where you were going and your reply about a short-cut? That she had to hang up on me quickly, I assume to make the indicated 911 call?”

“Short cut?” Zoe was now the one growling.

“Emma and I were arguing about her plans for the future. I missed the turn for her modeling job and was going to use the alley to get back on path.”

Mrs. Barnes eyes narrowed as her complexion reddened and her husband paled even further.

“Emma fought back and... you let that... that... BITCH fuck with her head” Taylor's, quiet disappointed voice breaking into fury in the middle shattered Zoe's heart.

With shaking hands, Zoe Barnes picked up the thick sheaf of papers and began to read the horrors her daughter had subjected her sister in all but blood to as tears streamed down her cheeks.

=NM=

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his eyes after staring at page after page of reports filed by Shadow Stalker's PRT Handler-slash-Parole Officer. With a groan he turned to look at Colin, doing the same at the other desk. “There's nothing here.”

“You're right,” Armsmaster answered, letting his own tired state through. “Not a thing.”

Assault looked back at his own station. “Not a thing... Not... A... Thing...”

He quickly started typing and mouse clicking his way through the file servers his system could access. “Look, he pointed at his screen. Every ward we have has disciplinary reports from their schools. Even Dean and Missy.”

The Protectorate ENE team leader glanced over his subordinate's shoulder at the documents displayed on the screens.

“Yes,” Colin replied with a long-suffering sigh. “Which is why we are looking through them for some indication that Shadow Stalker is misbehaving.”

“So is it not suspicious that our least well behaved ward has absolutely no disciplinary reports from her school?”

The Tinker blinked. “Crap. Piggot is going to have a conniption. Norm Man flat out told me and I still did not see it. Stalker's handler, is covering for her.”

Assault's right elbow slipped off the edge of the desk, causing him to fall forward and twist to the left. Just before his chin would have struck the Formica top his backside slid off the chair he had been perched on, his forehead instead striking the desk as his ass hit the floor. 

“Did you say Norm Man?” Ethan was proud his voice did not squeak.

“Yeah.” Colin glanced down at his slightly younger subordinate. “ He said this case has caused him to put the cowl back on.”

Assault, Protectorate Hero, formerly known as the villain Madcap, in both guises the man with a quip for all occasions could only come up with a single word. 

“Shit.”

=NM=

From her seat on the living room sofa, cuddling my gently sobbing daughter, Zoe's tear reddened eyes narrowed, flickering between Allan and myself, still simmering with banked fury. “So why did neither of you tell me you were Norm?”

I swallowed. Zoe was already on the warpath over the Shadow Stalker thing with Emma. The fact that her flesh and blood daughter had all but destroyed the girl she currently had wrapped in a heartfelt, motherly embrace. Well her temper was close, no... very close to the surface and looking to strike out. 'Honey, right now your advice would be a great help.'

“Like Allan with Ann, when Taylor was born I hung up the cape,” I sighed. “Annette, of course, knew about me but not Allan's involvement. We never told you about me, or Annette about Allan, to protect you both. What you did not know you could not let slip, and with thinker villains, it would only take a small slip for you to find yourself on the receiving end of something horrible.”

I watched as Zoe stiffened, only to hear a low mumble from the cocoon of blankets she was wrapped around.

Her posture immediately softened. “What was that honey?” she cooed softly.

“Fleur.” Taylor's tear roughened voice came out.

Blood rushed away from Zoe's face as she focused on her husband. “But you said...”

Allan shook his head sadly. “Rules, written or unwritten, are only as reliable as those who choose to obey them. If the advantage is perceived to outweigh the costs, then they aren't even a speed bump to most villains.”

“Which is why those who believe in the rules come down so hard on the ones who violate them,” I added. “But there's a difference between driving plus five on the highway and weaving through heavy traffic at plus twenty.”

“So you're saying you shared enough to keep us safe but not so much that it would make us targets.” Her voice a low growl, not agreeing fully with the words spoken.

Closing my eyes I pinched the bridge of my nose. “If it makes any difference, if the kids had not come along when they did, Allan and I were considering bringing both you and Annette in on the full secret. But first Ann, then Taylor and Emma two years later, well, instead we both hung up the cape.”

There was a muffled squeak an Taylor's head pushed itself out of the blankets. “MmnNot quite true, Dad.”

I looked at her tousled head as her hand snaked up from the covers and pushed her glasses back up on her nose. “Are you sure, Little Owl?”

Returning my gaze, she nodded soberly.

'Every day she reminds me more and more of you, dear.' “Allan. Zoe. Norm Man is coming out of retirement.”

Zoe blinked. “But why? You still have Taylor to think about. What's changed?”

“Is this because of Sophia...” Allan visibly swallowed the lump in his throat. “...and Emma?”

“He's doing it for me.” Taylor nodded, tears starting to flow again. “Aunt Zoe, Uncle Allan. In the locker back in January, I Triggered. Please don't tell Emma or Ann.”

Stroking her hand through my daughter's hair, Zoe leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Shhh little one. Ann doesn't need to know and Emma...” Her voice hardened. “Emma does not deserve to.”

“So yeah,” I sat up. “Norm's got a new mission.”

Taylor gave Zoe a watery grin. “My dad's a hero, you see... and I wanna be just like him.”

'Was that you I heard singing just now sweetheart? Damn allergies.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Rorschach's Blot for adding this story to their fanfiction.net C2. The sudden influx of readers, favorites, follows and feedback that resulted when his numerous followers responded managed to break the writer's block on this chapter. Thanks also to the other 9 communities now listing this story.
> 
> Don't forget to check out the PHO Roleplay forum I created. The link is https://www.fanfiction.net/myforums/H-Max-Marius/1048123/ Next chapter will be a PHO interlude built from the forums. Get your participation in now :) (not everything will necessarily make the cut)


	6. Who the Hell is Norm Man?

**Who the Hell is Norm Man?**

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** Heroes - Brockton Bay - Retired/Inactive - Whatever Became of Norm Man  **

**Starbuck (Guy in the Know) (Original Poster)**

So... some buddies and I were talking over some beers and one of them brought up the subjects of old Brockton Bay Capes.  
Normally when a Cape drops off the scene, there is a big deal made about it. Either they're killed in action, they go villain or they publicly retire. Thing is, none of these happened with Norm Man. At least not publicly.

Did he move away and take up heroing somewhere else under a different name?

*Looks around suspiciously*

Or was he one of the Joes I was just drinking with?

**Ultimate Cape (Not A Cape)**

Probably the same thing that happens to every cape who suddenly vanishes without a trace... There's not enough of a body left to prove they died.

I mean, wasn't his whole schtick that he wasn't a parahuman, just a well-trained guy? Do you really think someone like that could stand up to the likes of Marquis or AllFather, or God forbid, Lung?

PRT troops are all very well trained, and they die all the time. How much better trained could this guy have been?

**_Super Vegeta_ (Verified Saiyan Prince) (Verified non-Cape Alien Superhuman) (Verified Badass)**

Hello, puny Earthlings.

BYE, puny Earthlings.

_The Prince has spoken._

(Mod Edit: Okay, who's authorizing these tags? -Tin Mother)

**whyisitalwaystheknees (BBPD Vet) (Verified Grumpy Old Man)**

Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time. It's kinda sad a lot of people have forgotten about him, though to be fair it has been about fifteen years since he was last running around the city. Heh, I still remember how he drove the local PRT nuts with everything he did. I think there's still one guy who insists he was a Combat Thinker/Anti-Thinker Stranger even after they got confirmation he wasn't a powered Cape. (on a side note, I think they also partially blame him for Mouse Protector's hammy exit once she was old enough to leave the Wards)

Anyway, back to the topic, my best guess is that he hurt himself training. Speaking from personal experience, keeping in shape gets harder the older you get (unless you're a Brute) and all it takes is one bad slip and there goes a tendon or three. Given that Healers like Panacea weren't really a thing back then either, there's a career ender right there, happens to athletes all the time.

I have to admit, the Bay got a bit darker when he hung the cowl, Heroes like him are rarer than hen's teeth these days.

**Cliff (Unverified Sidekick)(Not a Postal Worker)**

Ah, Norm. Good times. Haven't seen him much lately but the guy's still kicking.

I should look him up. Go grab a beer.

Cheers!

**Glory Girl (Verified Hero)(New Wave)**

So I have this assignment in my World Affairs class. Two pages on the impact your assigned cape had on their area of operation. I was all set to write my paper on Alexandria or Eidolon when Mrs. Castle made us all draw names out of a hat. So I'll just post here the first words out of my mouth.

Who the hell is Norm Man?

**Panacea (Verified Hero)(New Wave)**

Ha! At least you didn't get stuck with Madcap GG!

*sulks*

**whyisitalwaystheknees (BBPD Vet) (Verified Grumpy Old Man)**

Glory Girl- You have one of the most unique Heroes to have ever donned the cowl from the late 80s to mid 90s. Norm was a Detective, and I don't just mean in the sense like you'd meet in the police or as a private investigator (which he WAS/IS the latter, though I don't know if he's kept things up to date), but in the sense that he covered every possible angle to find even the most minute piece of evidence to make a case rock solid. I know for a fact that many Heroic Thinkers, including several members of Watchdog, that try to emulate his processes. Ironically, the only times any of his cases fell through is because a member of the local PRT or Protectorate (and you damn dumb dinguses know exactly who you are!) believed they knew better and botched everything with their bungling.

Anyway, I'll send a message to some of my former coworkers at my old precinct know you're looking for info on Norm. Get ready for a history lesson kiddo.

Panacea- Ah yes, Madcap, one of the more tragic figures in Capedom. I knew him, briefly, when he first started out before he went villain. His heart in the right place, as I too believe there are too many people wrongly going to that hellhole, but his methods just made things worse in the long run. Hell of a waste of potential, he could have been a great Hero. If you're interested, send me a PM and I'll share some stories with you about his early days.

**Winged One (Verified Troll)**

Well before my time. But if there was a Hero I would have liked to meet.

**Cliff (Unverified Sidekick)(Not a Postal Worker)**

Hi Glory Girl. Believe it or not Norm actually predates the Brockton Bay Brigade. His last couple of years did overlap with them. Not sure how much Brandish and Lady Photon remember. I do know that he and I both respected the Brigade's stand on independence from the PRT and Protectorate.

Norm Man was old school. He trained and he studied to become what he did. No powers. You kids all seem to enjoy those Aleph import shows like CSI and NCIS. Well Norm and I lived that. He jokingly called us the 'Caped Crusaders' (and this is not a reference to that E88 idiot). Look up the pre-Scion comic character 'Batman' and you'll get a very strong indication of just who Norm always strove to be.

Actually, ask Lady Photon who it was who figured out exactly where The (pre-Butcher) Teeth had holed up with that busload of kids back in '94. Just from some muddy, greasy bootprints left at the scene of the attack. THAT is Norm in a nutshell. Clues, analysis and answers. Those kids were all rescued alive and unharmed because Norm figured it out and made sure the right people knew.

Here's the most important thing though. We did not go out looking for capes to fight. We were CRIME fighters. Something today's heroes avoid like the plague.

That's what I'm most proud of being a part of. He did not go out looking for fights. As Knees said, he was a detective. He solved cases, saved lives and kept crime in check. Be it the gangs or the capes. They knew not to piss off Norm.

Cheers!

 **Pg** 1, **2, 3**

**Flashlight**

Glory Girl. Please share these links with your class. Protectorate (dot) org (slash) history (slash) capes. and ParahumanResourceTeams (dot) gov (slash) affilates. Both pages include a search page where you can enter your cape's name and access the non-classified official histories of their interactions with each organization.

That said, Norm Man was a very interesting case. As a rule, the PRT and the Protectorate actively discourage non-powered individuals from getting involved in the cape life. The fact that Norm Man not only had a successful career as a cape but lived to retire while having no active power of any kind quite frankly scares the life out of those of us in the know.

I met him back in '94 and was impressed with his attention to the minor details and his focus on the mission. He did not come to New York seeking a fight. In spite of the enthusiasm and lack of judgement a certain young ward showed when he came across Norm the first time. Norm was here for information and evidence to bring down a drug kingpin and that is what he did. I think that particular ward learned quite a bit that week.

**XxVoid_CowboyxX**

You said he was like Batman. So you're looking for someone super-rich who dropped out of sight a few years ago?  
Sounds like Marquis - maybe he was playing both sides of the street!

**XxVoid_CowboyxX**

Or if we're looking for someone rich that's still around, maybe Max Anders or someone like that.

**whyisitalwaysthekness (BBPD Vet) (Verified Grumpy Old Man)**

I know I'm feeding a beast here, but as one of the officers who regularly worked with Norm Man during his run, I can definitively say that neither of your theories hold any water Void.

For one, while admittedly there are versions of Batman that have played on both sides of the fence, there were plenty of times when Norm was with my officers and Marquis was up to something on the other side of the city. And before you say anything about body doubles, powered or otherwise, even Heroes who have rebranded give little tells of their previous identities and the only ones Norm had were his own, no one else's. Especially Marquis'.

As for the thought with Anders or some other member of the wealthy population, having met most at numerous city functions without giving any details about Norm's build or age (and thus not break any Rules), none of them fit.

Take that as you will and now full stop on trying to figure out Norm's identity, while not active anymore he never unmasked either and the Mods will act accordingly. I will even take an infraction for my own part in this to prove the point.

**Corbomite (Verified Cape)(Independent Hero)**

I remember that guy. Worked with him a couple times back in the day when he chased a few cases up to Providence. If he reads this, I'm still really, really sorry about your arm, bud. But hey, better a broken arm than plowing head-first into that steel dumpster.

**Tinfoil Hats Work (conspiracy nut)**

Claim all you like that he was unpowered, but it's far more likely he was a stranger 7, able to deflect knowledge from both his powers and his identity. Frankly, his record is too good for him to not have powers. But that's not the least of it. His retirement? He actually took the time to clone himself and train his new self up enough that he can bridge the Heisenberg gap of consciousness, allowing him multiple bodies and effective immortality.

**Ripper's Foil**

*shivers*

I have it on good authority that Norm Man has un-retired.

May I just say that I preemptively apologize for any offense I may have or may yet give him.

Cliff, Knees, that is directed at the two of you as well. I think I actually owe Knees several.

**Kid Win (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)**

> I have it on good authority that Norm Man has un-retired.

No offense meant, but are you sure? Wouldn't he be really old now? Like fifties or sixties? What's he going to do, chase bad guys in a mobility scooter or hit them with his Zimmer frame?

**AllSeeingEye**

Interesting. I need to look up the guys running the Parahuman dead pool, if it hasn't been shut down again, get a bet or two in fast. And no, I'm not saying which way I'll be betting ;-)

**Vista (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)**

Kid Win - isn't that a little ageist? For all you know Norm Man is keeping himself in good shape. Why assume he's handicapped?

AllSeeingEye - Good luck with that, we busted them end of last month!

 **Pg 1,** 2, **3**

**Kid Win (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)**

> Kid Win - isn't that a little ageist? For all you know Norm Man is keeping himself in good shape. Why assume he's handicapped?

Most capes I know have spent a lot of hospital time. Bearing in mind that Norm Man isn't even a parahuman, the odds are that he retired because of ill-health or a long-term disability. Coming back from something like that just seems really unlikely.

Re the Dead Pool - rumour has it that it's back already, but keeping a pretty low profile and run by some really unpleasant people. I wouldn't recommend anyone go looking for them, especially anyone whose name might be in the pool.

**Lord_Fluffy (Unverified Furball)**

Hey, my dad made me read the old comics. If Norm Man was like Batman, you mean like he was a crazy good detective or that he could like, make a plan and tool to be anyone?

**FlippinMad**

I read some of the Norm Man fanfic last night. Eewwwwwwwwww.....

Maybe I can see NM/Amsmaster, but NM/Kaiser? Seriously??

later - The ones with Skidmark are even worse!

**whyisitalwaysthekness (BBPD Vet) (Verified Grumpy Old Man)**

Ripper's Foil - Are you serious? Are you One Hundred Percent serious? Norm's back?! If this is true then there are a lot of people who are going to be really happy and a bunch of others who are going to be sweating bullets.

...that all said, do you have any idea how many mooks, minions, and henchmen I arrested over the course of Norm's first run? Plus all the sidekicks and team ups he's had who made tactical errors? Unless you want to stay anonymous I'm going to need a bit more of hint here...

Lord_Fluffy – YES.

(Mod Edit: User received a warning for the identity solicitation. -Tin Mother)

**Char**

FlippinMad said

> I read some of the Norm Man fanfic last night. Eewwwwwwwwww.....
> 
> Maybe I can see NM/Amsmaster, but NM/Kaiser? Seriously??
> 
> later - The ones with Skidmark are even worse! 

I don't know, I agree about Skidmark at least, but some of the NM/Lung fics are OK, though I don't think they ever met in reality, and there's a huge unfinished NM/Legend/Alexandria story that was very promising until the author was allegedly killed in a Slaughterhouse Nine attack in 2009. You can probably find an equivalent mix of garbage and good stuff for any Parahuman that people write about. I think he's written sympathetically in that huge rambling story about the secret lizard rulers of Earth Alpha invading us - or it might have been one of the omakes, I'm not re-reading 3 million words to find it! And of course he's the number one choice for Batman crossovers, and there's some steamy NM/Catwoman out there.

 **Pg 1, 2,** 3

=NM=

Alan Barnes sat at the desk in his home office. A glass and a bottle of scotch sitting beside his humming computer. On the screen, the 'Whatever Happened to Norm Man' thread stared balefully back at him.

He could hear his wife moving around in the bedroom overhead. He already knew that tonight. Tonight he would be sleeping somewhere else. Perhaps even in this very chair.

How do you apologize for what he had failed to see? Failed to do?

Failed to prevent?

He was so happy that he and Emma had escaped uninjured from that ambush that he completely missed how badly his daughter (and himself, for that matter) had been hurt by it.

Until he had seen how Emma had paid that pain forward to someone totally undeserving.

Until he had seen how that victim chose instead to rise above the stain heaped upon her.

Danny was not the only hero in the Hebert family. He once swore an oath to stand beside his best friend no matter what.

Tonight, that oath got extended. It was the least he could do considering the blood price paid.

=NM=

** Heroes - Brockton Bay - Retired/Inactive - Whatever Became of Norm Man  **

**Cliff (Unverified Sidekick)(Not a Postal Worker)**

Ripper's Foil. I do not know where you got your information but I just had a very long conversation with Norm.

Fifteen years ago he had very good reasons for stepping away from the Cape Life.

And now, tonight, I just learned that because of something I blinded myself to, he has even stronger reasons to return to it.

I...

I have a mess to clean up. But first I think I'm going to get drunk.

 **Pg 1, 2,** 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the following ff . net members who created or portrayed characters on the forum threads: Edale, zigmas, TegwenielWestwind, Aracade
> 
> Particular thanks to Fenris-wolfprince for keeping me motivated during the dry spell once the writer's block kicked in, whyisitalwaystheknees is 100% his creation. A lot of the forum ideas came by bouncing off of him. Also to Marcus Rowland for taking on (and sharing responsibility for) several canon characters on the forums.


End file.
